


Hell of a Thing

by orphan_account



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:21:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24937480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A life saved and the favor returned make Zaeed and Shepard rethink their stance on each other.
Relationships: Zaeed/Commander Shepard





	1. Chapter 1

Everything was happening too fast. Seeing the fetal Reaper had shaken something inside of her, had twisted something in her core. She'd wanted to throw up for a moment, tasting bile in the back of her throat, but she'd swallowed it. No. _Hell_ no. This was stopping here, _now_ , no matter what.

The Illusive Man could shove all of his human supremacy bullshit up his smug ass. Nothing good, _nothing_ , could come from a place like this, from a place that had been creating something so _foul_.

She'd spared a look at her squad for a moment. Zaeed looked shaken by the sight of the human Reaper, and even Legion seemed to reach a quick consensus that the thing had to be destroyed. If even a dead Reaper could indoctrinate, what havoc could a partially formed one do?

Shepard hadn't expected the thing to claw its way up the platform and start attacking them. It had been barely controlled chaos, blasting away at it. The rest of the team was heading back to the Normandy, and it was just the three of them left to finish the fight, battered and worn and exhausted. Herself and Zaeed had their jaws set, however – neither of them planned on dying here. He certainly had a track record of making it out of these sorts of situations alive, and there was no concession on his face now. Shepard could appreciate that. She had no intention of dying, either.

Legion was unreadable, but as it had said not too long ago, the geth did not experience fear.

Then the Reaper was howling and its death throes displaced the platforms. Time had held no meaning since she'd seen the thing, but now that it was gone, falling down into the abyss below them, time was racing to catch up. The impact of its thrashing sent the three of them sprawling and she looked frantically to Legion and Zaeed to make sure they were all right. They had to get the hell out of there. Time was quite literally ticking away.

Legion was fine, gripping the platform with both fingers and toes, and Zaeed-

" _Zaeed_!"

She acted without thinking, sliding down after the mercenary, who was scrabbling uselessly at the smooth surface, his eyes wide in disbelief, in a mixture of fear and stubborn refusal. Shepard could easily imagine what he was thinking: _Not like this_.

She could still feel her oxygen hissing away as she turned end over end in the vacuum of space, feel the burning shoot through her nervous system, the freezing cold. _Not like this_ , she'd thought, _I'm not done yet_.

Neither was Zaeed. Not on her watch.

"Shepard!" he shouted. It sounded at once alarmed and something _else_. Angry, maybe, that she was speeding towards the edge instead of scrambling to stabilize her footing. Scolding her for trying to save his life instead of her own.

She reached. He reached back, swearing colorfully.

He went over the edge.

She caught him.

Shepard grunted, felt her body teetering dangerously, but she grit her teeth and ignored the pain radiating from her shoulder. Heavy bastard. She pulled back, slowly, and he found purchase with his other arm, his legs, and for a brief moment he was nearly on top of her thanks to a lot of grunting and pulling and tugging.

They made eye contact and he gave her a brief nod, brows knit together in a strange expression. He looked a little pale. Shepard nodded back and slapped his shoulder.

"Shepard-Commander-!" Legion shouted in warning, pointing, and she managed half a curse before things went black.

It wasn't a peaceful blackness. Shepard snapped out of it in a bodily jerk, Joker's frantic voice coming over the comms. Assuring him she was fine, she hauled herself to her feet, glad the adrenaline pumping through her system was blocking most of the pain she was in. Her heart caught in her throat when she saw Zaeed and Legion under the rubble. Shifting the metal plank off of Zaeed stirred the older man into a fit of coughing and he took her hand up. Together, they freed Legion, and for a split second, she dared to breath.

Then they ran, and ran _hard_ , using energy they didn't have. Legion was far out in front, the geth pausing at regular intervals to cover them with suppressing fire. Zaeed was right on his heels, perhaps reinvigorated from his near-death experience, though not enough to help Legion shoot the advancing Collectors.

Shepard felt like her legs were going to collapse, like her lungs were going to burst, and she was almost certain she'd dislocated her shoulder catching the mercenary. She was lagging behind.

Emerging from a tunnel she felt a rush of elation – the Normandy, and Joker. Joker with a _rifle_ , snarling and spraying bullets at the Collectors like the baddest commando that ever lived. She felt a grin spread over her face, though it probably looked more like a grimace thanks to her exertion.

Legion piled into the Normandy, Zaeed close behind, and both of them turned to check on her progress.

Another platform slammed into the path they'd taken, and even though it didn't register in her brain for a moment, the expressions of horror on Joker and Zaeed's faces drove the event home. She'd have to jump. Her legs were barely working, her body felt impossibly heavy, and people were shouting at her.

_Not like this_ , she thought fervently, pushing herself just that little bit harder. Her legs pistoned, her left arm swinging hard to keep up her momentum. She reached the edge and she jumped.

_Not like this, not like this,_ _not yet_ , repeated in her mind as she arced through the air. She hadn't put enough _oomph_ into it - she'd only catch the edge.

Shepard slammed into the ledge with a loud grunt, tried to scrabble with her arms, and cried out when her right arm loudly informed her that yes, it _was_ dislocated, and no, it _wouldn't_ be supporting her weight. She slid back alarmingly, and for a moment, she felt a horrible pang of terror.

After all of that, she was going to be done in by her own dedication to her team.

Strong hands grabbed the back of her suit and hauled her up with a snarl.

"Up you go," Zaeed growled with the effort to pull her back up, staggering back when he took on her weight. They fell against the bulkhead and Shepard looked at him with what must've been a shocked expression. He'd just saved her ass. _Zaeed_.

"Excuse me, _pardon_ me," Joker limped past them while Legion closed the hatch, and Shepard allowed Zaeed to prop her up, the two of them shambling after him. He was leaning on her just as heavily as she was leaning on him.

EDI counted down. Joker asked her not to.

Shepard didn't mean to, but she curled her fingers into a fist against Zaeed's back. She had every faith in Joker, but they were cutting it pretty goddamn close. Could he even feel the gesture through his armor?

He surprised her by tightening a hand on her waist, just briefly, a gesture of reassurance with enough pressure for her to feel it through her own suit. Apparently he'd felt her nervous one.

They'd have a chat later, she decided. Ever since Zorya they'd... had an _understanding_. Not the friendliest understanding, either. His sudden camaraderie was a bit strange.

One bumpy trip through the Omega-4 relay, and suddenly, it was done. Not _over_ , exactly, but they weren't in danger for at least a little while.

"I need to make a call," Shepard said, patting Zaeed on the chest and shuffling away from him. He nodded and let her take her own weight, "Keep our asses covered, Joker. We're not in the best position to get attacked."

"You got it Commander," Joker said. He sounded elated, chipper even, and that brought a smile to what must've been one of her more dour expressions. If not for him, they'd _all_ be Reaper paste.

"All right?" Zaeed wondered. The concern didn't come from him easily and she nodded at him, waving him off so he didn't have to hover. Not that he was actually hovering, but he was making an effort to do more than be tolerant of her. She appreciated it. Coming from _him_ , it meant a lot.

"Yeah, thanks," she said, offering him a lopsided smile and holding her dislocated arm, "We're sort of even now."

"Maybe," he grunted, smirking back at her, "Got any twenty year grudges you're planning on chasing down?"

Shepard let out a short bark of laughter and walked past him, shaking her head. Jackass.

Later, after telling the Illusive Man where to shove it ( _again_ ), and after a visit with Dr. Chakwas, Shepard couldn't help but replay the events of the past few hours in her mind. They'd been tasked with a suicide mission, and here they were, maybe a little worse for wear but _alive_. There wasn't even any fanfare this time around, and she was contemplating limping to Omega for repairs. Owing Aria one was a risky proposition, however. While she'd done the asari some favors, she didn't think Aria had an altruistic bone in her body.

Most people still didn't believe the Reapers were a threat. She didn't want to put them in any more danger than she already had.

They'd do what repairs they could in private. Adding Cerberus to the list of people that weren't happy with her seemed a bit redundant – she'd already disrupted quite a few of their operations in the past. Making off with the Normandy in her newly restored body was a bit of a twist, but hell with it. The Illusive Man had wanted her completely intact, wanted her to be who she'd always been, and she was. Maybe for awhile they'd had somewhat similar goals, but she couldn't begin to trust a man who thought trying to reverse engineer Reaper tech was a good idea.

It wasn't over, but she wanted it to be. Selfish thinking, thinking she never gave into, but in the quiet after something so intense, she couldn't help but let her mind wander. For just a little while, she wanted it all to stop long enough for her to catch her breath.

One loud exhale later, she pushed up out of her chair and went down to the crew deck. Sitting around her quarters not reading the pile of datapads she ought to go through wasn't accomplishing anything. Maybe having something to eat and talking with the crew would help her feel more centered.

She'd made her rounds once before after the conflict, but she was still met with praise and back patting, which she returned with indulgent smiles and hand shakes.

"I can whip up something special for you, Commander," Gardner offered as she approached the kitchen, "For pulling our asses out of the fire like you did. What's your favorite?"

"Come on," she chided, "We all did our part. I just did the most shouting, nothing special about that."

He gave her a dubious, chastising look and she laughed.

"Nothing special, all right?" she put her hands up in defense, "Whatever you've got cooking now smells great."

Shepard spared a look around the mess hall. Most of the human crew was sitting down to eat, with some notable absences. The aliens, she knew, preferred to keep to themselves when they were able to, dining in private.

She certainly didn't envy poor Garrus and Tali, who had to suffice with what was likely tasteless dextro-paste. Maybe they would stop at Omega. The two of them had more than earned a decent meal.

"Have Jack and Zaeed come up already?" she wondered, surprised by just how hungry she was when Gardener's cooking tickled her nose. When had she last eaten? Seemed like forever ago.

"Nah," Gardener frowned, looking somewhat uneasy, "You know Jack, she'll just come make something for herself later. Zaeed usually comes up to eat with the crew, so I'm sure he'll be up sooner or later."

"Make my order a triple," Shepard decided, tapping the counter, "I'll bring them their food."

Sighing, but not game to argue, Gardener loaded up three trays and Shepard headed for the elevator, balancing them inexpertly. She hadn't done a whole lot of waiting tables in her day. Grunt, she assumed, had been up in the crew mess the moment he'd smelled food, and Tali always looked after herself. Jack didn't trust Cerberus, but Zaeed's absence was a little peculiar. He was a loner, fair enough, but he wasn't an introvert by any means. Maybe he was still unsettled from the Reaper fight.

The thought sent a chill up her spine and she mashed it down. It was dead. That was the end of that.

"Huh, what're you sucking up for, Shepard?" Jack asked when Shepard set a tray out for her.

"Just being friendly, Jack," Shepard smirked, shaking her head, "You all right?"

"I'm fine," she said tersely, though she did add, "Thanks. I didn't really feel like going up there with all those Cerberus assholes jerking each other off like they actually did something fucking useful."

"Jack-"

"Later, Shepard," Jack said loudly, effectively ending the conversation.

Some things never changed. She decided she'd leave the biotic for now and went to starboard cargo, calling out, "It's me," as she came inside, "Room service."

Zaeed was in his usual spot, leaning against the bulkhead and staring out into space. He turned to look at her in surprise, though a crooked smile broke out on his scarred face when she pulled up a crate.

"Thought you might be hungry," Shepard said, balancing her tray in her lap, inviting herself to eat with him, "Gardener said you usually eat with the crew. You all right?"

"You already saved the galaxy," Zaeed said, dodging her question and sitting down on another crate near hers, "Don't you ever get tired of solving other peoples goddamn problems?"

"So you're admitting you have a problem?" she asked, pausing to make an 'mmm!' sound, "This is great, by the way. Food tastes so much better after you dodge a bullet."

"Don't I know it," he said dryly. Again, he didn't answer her question, looking from his meal to her, studying, _thinking_.

"Thanks for hauling my ass out of the fire back there, Massani," Shepard said seriously, watching him eat. He looked uncomfortable with the thanks and shrugged a shoulder.

"You did the same for me," he said, looking away a moment, "Hell of a thing, Shepard. How's your arm?"

Shepard rotated her arm to demonstrate that it was fine.

"Good as new," she said, "Try not to fall off of anything for a little while though, all right?"

"Same goes for you."

They ate in silence, but even with her tray cleared, Shepard felt like the air wasn't entirely clear. He wasn't the type to avoid eye contact or to have some sort of... inner turmoil, she supposed. Maybe that wasn't a fair assessment, however. He'd been pretty torn up about Vido.

Shepard leaned forward, elbows on her knees and head tilted just slightly to the side.

"Hell, Shepard," Zaeed grumbled, "I know that look. What do you want?"

"What's eating you?" she asked, "Come on, I figured you'd at least have a story for me when I came down here."

"You risked your life for me," he said after a minute, leaning his back against the wall and putting a boot up on a nearby crate, "What the hell was that about?"

"You're part of my crew," Shepard shrugged, "Maybe we're not best friends, Zaeed, but I don't leave men behind."

Except in one instance. Her jaw tightened slightly, wondering if he'd call her out on it, but his thoughts seemed to be elsewhere.

"Hell of a risk to take," he said, "Not that I'm ungrateful, Shepard, don't get me wrong. I just-"

Zaeed scowled and folded his arms over his chest, shaking his head.

"Hey," she reached over and shoved his foot off the crate with a cheeky smile, "Get over yourself, all right? I look out for my squad, whether they like it or not."

Her shove set him slightly off balance and he shifted his weight, smirking in spite of himself, regarding her with an expression she couldn't identify.

"You're a hell of a woman, Shepard," he said sincerely, "Never thought I'd save the galaxy. Should've asked for a lot more."

"The galaxy isn't saved _yet_ ," she laughed, rubbing the back of her neck, feeling more tickled by his compliment than she'd anticipated. He was a hard man to get through to, "But thanks, Zaeed. I know technically your contract is over now, but you're welcome to stay on if you want. I couldn't have done this without you."

"Don't get all soft on me, Shepard," he growled, waving a hand at her, "I get it."

"Get _what_?" she quirked a brow at him.

"I don't usually work for free," he said, sounding suddenly cross, "I'll think about it."

Her other eyebrow rose as well – she hadn't actually expected him to consider the idea. Just how much had the last mission shaken him up?

"Zaeed-"

"I should let you go," he said, rising to his feet and putting his back to her, saying over his shoulder, "Talk more later, Shepard."

"Later, Massani," she stood as well, collecting his tray and squinting at his back. She'd come to learn when people needed some time to themselves, tempting as it was to keep prying.

Shepard left him be and headed for the elevator, shaking her head. She wanted to think that he'd stay on, but she hadn't been born yesterday. He'd made a career out of being a mercenary, a bounty hunter, and he wasn't going to throw all that out the window for the person who'd decked him, royally fucked up his revenge and put a gun to his head.

Maybe he would for the person who'd kept him from falling to his death, though.

_Don't get all soft, Shepard_ , she scolded herself, hearing the echo of his voice in her head. She had a sizable team, and losing one man, a man who was in the practice of being bought, shouldn't effect her so deeply. Still, she was used to people rallying behind her in spite of themselves. It would sting a little, if he left. She had pride, after all, she was just able to swallow it most of the time if it meant getting the job done.

There were datapads to go over, she reminded herself, and she'd have to see if she could pitch in to repairs. The sooner they were ship-shape, the sooner they could figure out where to go next.

Or what to _do_ next.

Shepard wound up falling asleep in her chair, head cradled in her arms, surrounded by datapads. Her sleep was troubled, the dreams disjointed and unsettling, and she woke some hours later with a start. Her hands sent some of the datapads flying as she clawed at her desk, certain she was falling, _slipping_.

"Shit," she breathed raggedly, rubbing her face.

It was better than the dreams where she was slowly suffocating in the vacuum of space as the Normandy burned silently around her, at least.

She checked her messages and collected the datapads she'd displaced. There was a lot to do, and it was impossible to say how long they had before the Reaper's made their next move.

* * *


	2. Hell of a Thing

After being beat to hell on the other side of the relay, they didn't have all the materials they needed to make full repairs. Another mass relay jump seemed like a poor idea, so with limited options, they'd docked at Omega. She wanted to give the crew some measure of reprieve, wanted them to have at least a little while to relax, to feel a sense of accomplishment before things inevitably spiraled into something even darker.

A shore leave roster had been knocked out. The Normandy needed to get repaired quickly, but not at the cost of the crew's mental state. Eventually, everyone would get a turn to unwind.

So here she was, in the VIP room of Afterlife, wishing she didn't keep expecting Morinth to slither out of the shadows and start hissing in her ear. There was a long list of people who wanted to buy her drinks, so she was pacing herself, having made a joke that she'd just go through them alphabetically.

Even though it was good to see the crew cut loose a little, she couldn't quite get there herself. She didn't feel like drinking, didn't feel like letting her hair down and forgetting the galaxy. The Reaper's were out there, and even though there really wasn't anything she could do right this instant, she felt like she was doing something wrong.

"Commander?"

She looked up, hearing her title through the pounding music, and managed a smile for Yeoman Chambers.

"Have a seat, Kelly," Shepard invited, scooting over. Kelly's cheeks were a bit flush – she'd been enjoying some drinks as well – and she happily took a seat in the booth Shepard was currently occupying all by herself.

"Why are you sitting in a booth by yourself?" the Yeoman pouted at her, leaning on her elbows and propping her chin in her hands, "You should come dance."

"I'm not much of a dancer," Shepard smirked, tapping an empty shot glass against the table, "Thanks though, Kelly. I'm all right."

"You look lonely."

Shepard raised an eyebrow and the tapping ceased, "Do I?"

Kelly nodded with an exaggerated sageness that only accompanied the inebriated.

"Come dance," she said, reaching out a hand, "It's not right for you to be all by yourself."

"Really, Kelly, I'm all right," Shepard assured her, putting her hands up, "Just nursing my drinks and thinking, you know? I'm fine. How's everyone else doing?"

"It's hard to say," she tried to school a sober expression on her face, "A lot of people are just trying to forget what happened. On the Collector ship-"

Kelly squeezed her eyes shut and shivered violently and Shepard grimaced. She hadn't meant to make her relive anything, and she reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently.

"Go have fun, Chambers," she said softly, "That's an order."

"Yes, Ma'am," Kelly's haunted expression softened slightly.

After the Yeoman left her booth, Shepard sank down in her seat slightly, rubbing her temples with both fingers. Coming here to unwind had been a great idea on paper, but she just couldn't... there was too much happening. Maybe she didn't have any solid leads on where to go next, on how to convince the rest of the galaxy that they needed to get their shit together, but that didn't mean she could just fritter away time in a seedy bar.

The music was too loud, she'd drank too little, and she still couldn't shake the feeling that someone was _watching_ her.

She looked up when a shape moved close to her, and Zaeed helped himself to a seat in her booth without so much as a greeting, setting two shot glasses and a bottle in the center of the table.

"You look like hell," he said, filling both glasses.

"I'm not up to the Z's yet," Shepard replied, sitting up straighter, glancing around the club. The feeling of being watched was gone, and she sized Zaeed up suspiciously.

"Figured you could use a real drink," he said in his usual growl, picking up his shot glass and raising his eyebrows at her. Smirking, she picked hers up, "Cheers."

It burned all the way down and Shepard shook her head as she set the shot glass back on the table. Zaeed promptly refilled both. Some sort of bourbon, she thought. How'd he gotten a hold of it way out here? Must've cost a fortune.

"Enjoying your shore leave?" she asked, finding his presence... odd. Not bad, per say, but she'd figured he'd be off with the other crewmen grabbing a dance or two. Unlike most of the people on the Normandy, he actually had credits to spend, after all.

Zaeed grunted and knocked back another shot. Shepard was compelled to keep pace with him, holding her glass out for a refill afterward. It still burned on the way down, but it was a _good_ sort of burn. Honest, somehow.

She studied him in the dim lighting, and he studied her back. Why they were sizing each other up, she didn't know. They'd done this once before, had their pecking order all sorted out.

What had happened on the Collector base had changed something. Shepard wasn't sure what, yet.

"Is this you saying you're going to stay here when we leave?" she decided to ask, quirking an eyebrow at him. He hadn't let her know if he was staying on or not, after all. She didn't expect everyone to, of course, and docking at Omega let people who wanted to leave have means to break things off amicably. Didn't mean she wanted a single damned person to actually go.

Zaeed had his next drink poised at his lips when she asked her question and his lips twisted into a brief scowl. He took the drink and set the shot glass down on the table, turning it in small circles with his fingers.

"No," he said, "Shepard-"

Shepard smirked and leaned forward, snatching the bottle away as he reached for it. She took a turn filling their glasses and said, "Don't get all soft on me now, Massani."

He smirked back, sly, and chuckled.

"No danger of that happening," he said. Shepard raised her eyebrows – was he _flirting_ with her?

Did she _like_ it?

Whatever was in the bottle was pretty damned strong, anyway. A lot stronger than the drinks she'd been accepting with a smile and a nod, to say the least. The music and the club seemed slightly blurry now, but Zaeed himself was still in sharp focus.

"You know I can't pay you a damned thing if you stay," she pointed out, "Vigilante wages aren't the best."

"You talking me out of it now?" he said irritably, "Make up your mind, Shepard."

"Just making sure we're clear."

"Crystal."

Shepard grinned triumphantly at him and took another shot.

"Don't look so goddamn smug about it," he said, but he was grinning as well. She wasn't sure what was so funny, but apparently both of them thought _something_ was.

"Who's smug? I'm just glad I didn't have to point a gun at you to make you stay this time."

"I bet you say that to all the blokes you dislocate your shoulder for," he shot back. There was something devilish in his eyes, his tone. She'd have never picked him to be the sort to _cruise_ her, but here he was, and here she was, eating it up.

"Only the ugly ones," she said, crossing her legs and shifting her weight, her grin broadening. Shepard had never considered herself easy prey. There was just too damn much going on for her to have time for this sort of thing, but after all this time, after _dying_...

Of all the people to give in to, though, she couldn't quite figure out how Zaeed got past her defenses. Maybe it was the booze.

"Shut up and drink you bitch," Zaeed said without the slightest hint of venom. Shepard cackled and clinked her glass against his, obeying without question. This was nice, she decided. It had been awhile since she'd actually relaxed.

The silence was a comfortable one as they methodically powered through the bottle, surrounded by the crowd and thumping of the club music, and by the time they were down to the last few shots they were both leaning on the table, postures slouched.

Neither of them were lightweights by any stretch, but the spirits were definitely taking their toll.

"Hell if I remembered what I was going to say when I got you drunk enough," Zaeed came out with, looking amused, "Never been good at speeches."

"Hey, don't edge in on my speech making," Shepard said glibly, "I'm the one who makes speeches on this ship, damn it."

She slapped the table, making the glasses rattle.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Zaeed smirked.

"So come on, what did you need to get me drunk for?" Shepard asked, "It takes more than good booze to seduce me."

Her tongue was a hell of a lot looser than it ought to be, but really, why else did you get someone drunk in a nightclub?

Zaeed leaned heavily on his elbows and gestured her in. Shepard indulged him, leaning in close until their foreheads were almost touching. Both of them sported some version of a knowing smile.

"What else do I need?" he asked her. His voice was low, but she was close enough that she could hear him even over the ruckus in the club.

She leaned forward further still, half-standing so she could whisper in his ear, "Steady hands."

Shepard sat back heavily, her grin turning wolfish as she watched his expression shift. He was slightly caught off guard, and he eyed the mostly-empty bottle of booze dubiously. She didn't blame him – she wasn't entirely convinced any of this was happening, herself.

"Commander!"

Hearing her name - had she really come to think of a title as her name? - exclaimed was a bit like a cold bucket of water being dumped over her head. Shepard sat up straighter, the club coming into sharp, alarming focus, her hands, previously flat on the table curling into fists.

"What's wrong, Jacob?"

Jacob was smiling, however, an arm around Miranda, who had an equally goofy expression on her face.

"I owe you a drink, don't I?" he said.

"We were going to spill drinks in the Citadel," Shepard reminded him, relaxing slightly. Her head was _swimming_.

"Ohh, right," he laughed and reached over to slap her on the shoulder, and Shepard managed a tight smirk, "Sorry Commander. You having a good time? This was a _great_ idea."

"Piss off," Zaeed growled from his side of the table, glowering at the pair.

"You can't order us around," Miranda slurred. Apparently the perfect woman hadn't been designed to handle her liquor well, "There's no need to be _rude_."

"Anyway," Shepard cut in, raking a hand through her short-cropped hair, "Thanks for the offer but I've had more than enough. I think I'll head back to the ship-"

"No, come on Commander," Jacob chided, "You're always working. Relax for once."

"You _must_ be drunk," Shepard said, pushing herself to standing, her head swimming all over again, "Have fun."

Jacob and Miranda staggered off and she watched them with a bemused smirk. She was somewhat dubious of her ability to walk in a straight line, but-

"I'm still bloody here, you know."

She blinked and turned her head, and Zaeed gave her a pointed look.

"I think you left off at steady hands," he said. There was a stubborn jut to his jaw – he wasn't letting her just walk away from her comment. It definitely hadn't been a no.

"I could use a steady _shoulder_ right about now," Shepard said, unwilling to revisit a mindset she'd been jarred from. She was drunk and suddenly tired, and she wanted to be alone in her room, sleeping off the ridiculously strong booze Zaeed had plied her with.

"I'm not a goddamn gentleman, you know."

"Shut up and help me walk back to the ship with some dignity."

Zaeed stood, a bit steadier than she was, and put an arm around her waist. She draped hers over his shoulders before she took a step. Wasn't as bad as she thought, though the fact that she had a prop helped.

"I think the only time I've been drunker," Shepard commented as they walked for the exit, "Was on the Citadel."

"Don't remind me," Zaeed muttered, "You puked lime green for five minutes straight and then passed out in a cold sweat. Wasn't pretty. Hard to explain why two men were crouched over a woman in the men's room, to."

Shepard snorted and laughed, leaning more weight on him and making him stumble. He readjusted without complaint, however.

"I thought you _liked_ remembering things," Shepard grinned.

"Vakarian was ready to sling you over his shoulder and rush you to a clinic," he grumbled, "He's your goddamn nanny. Told him you'd be fine."

"Garrus is sweet," she sighed, "He's been through a lot."

"Bloody hell," Zaeed muttered under his breath.

"Don't be jealous," she teased, "I like men with scars and all, but I'm all about compatible DNA at the end of the day."

"For such a bloody _saint_ ," the older man frowned, "You're a goddamn _tease_ , Shepard."

"I'll apologize when I'm sober," she told him, "I'm too entertained right now."

They made it back to the Normandy quicker than she expected, though she was quickly losing track of her legs.

"Just... help me up to my quarters," she said, leaning towards the elevator, closing one eye when she discovered there were a few doors instead of just one, "I'm legless here."

"Inviting me up?" he asked, leaning heavily on the elevator wall. She tried to punch in the code for her quarters a few times, ignoring him. Finally, she managed it, putting her back against the wall alongside him with a huff.

"This was fun," she decided, missing his shoulder a few times before she finally managed to give him a solid pat, "Thanks for the drinks, Massani. You're all right."

"Yeah," he looked unamused. Shepard imagined his plan hadn't factored in her not being an easy lay when she was drunk. She took a sort of smug satisfaction from it, actually, and it had been a really nice distraction from the galaxy being poised on the edge of a war it didn't even know was coming.

"Don't worry," she slung her arm over his shoulder again when the door opened, grinning, "You're not in the friend zone yet. I just don't mix booze and sex."

He was gritting his teeth behind tightly pursed lips, his jaw working, making the puckered scar on his cheek move as well. Before she realized what she was doing, a hand had reached out and her fingers wandered over it.

Zaeed jerked his head away with a grunt of alarm, pushing her to arms length. Shepard staggered back two steps and sat heavily in her chair with an _oof_.

"This was a bad idea," he growled, poking an accusing finger at her, "You're just stringing me along. This how you get your kicks, Shepard? I knew you weren't all alien-hugging and good goddamn deeds."

"Hey, just because you got me drunk doesn't mean we're going to knock boots, Massani," she fired back, scowling, "I had a good time. Don't ruin it by being an asshole."

"What the hell are you expecting, exactly?" he asked, defensive, "I'm not going to bloody _romance_ you, you daft bitch. I thought there was a mutual attraction-"

"I don't do _casual_ ," Shepard felt her stomach churn uncomfortably, felt her skin get clammy. She'd drank a lot, and had barely eaten, and all the negative snarling wasn't doing her any favors, "If you want an easy lay go buy a dancer or something. I'm not a fucking notch for your belt, Zaeed."

His mouth worked a little at that and she wondered if he could see how that particular reaction _stung_. She was a little surprised it did, to be honest. At what point had she been hoping for something other than a little mutual stress relief? _Blowing off steam_ , as Garrus had put it so eloquently.

He'd pulled her up when even Joker had been too busy to notice she was slipping. That reassuring squeeze in the moment where their survival had still ridden entirely on luck and timing.

_Shit._

"I should go," he finally said.

"Yeah," Shepard said, "You should."

Of all the men in the galaxy... _no_. She was drunk and stressed and thinking stupid. It'd be clearer when she woke up, and if it wasn't, she'd just bury herself in work like usual. This was exactly why she didn't spare time for... for this sort of _crap_. All the composure and battlefield experience in the world meant nothing in the face of something as amorphous as _feelings_.

Commander Shepard staggered over to her bed and fell onto it face first.


	3. Hell of a Thing

After Omega, it was straight to the Citadel.

Her meeting with Anderson was a strained one. They had to meet in private, talk in low tones and code, doing their best to avoid interruptions from Udina or the Council. All she really had to report was that she'd blown something up that was important to the Reapers. Nothing new in general, but she did do her best to impress upon him that even now it wasn't over.

There had been an offer of drinks that she'd turned down with a rueful smile, and Anderson had laughed, patting her on the shoulder. She wished him luck, and he returned it with a grim seriousness that stuck with her as she ambled around the ward. No ambling around the Presidium anymore, Council's orders.

She'd been annoyed at first, almost insulted by their half-assed gesture to restore her Specter status, but she didn't let it get to her. Zakera Ward was just as good a place as any to think, adverts and newscasts and the bustle of commerce allowing her to lose herself.

Anderson believed her without seeing it for himself. Wrex believed her, and he'd been there. There were a few others, a small handful of people who knew what was coming, and it all felt too tenuous, too fragile to start piling hopes onto.

"You all right, Commander?"

Shepard looked over her shoulder and offered the turian a wan smile. Wasn't _she_ supposed to be the one asking after people's well being?

"Yeah, Garrus," she motioned him to join her at the window that looked over the bustling spaceport, the city stretching out below them, "Just thinking."

He leaned on the railing and tilted his head, still watching her instead of the vista.

"Really, Garrus," Shepard insisted, "I'm okay. Just some saved-the-galaxy-again blues, you know?"

"Things not work out with the merc?" he asked after a beat. His mandibles twitched – he was either nervous or amused by his question. She raised an eyebrow at him slowly, turning sideways to face him.

"And just what do you know about that?"

"Only the _entire crew_ saw you two stagger into the elevator together," Garrus pointed out, "Stealth isn't really your thing, Shepard."

"Shit," she couldn't help but laugh, shaking her head, "I hadn't... no. No, things didn't work out. We were after different things, I think."

Garrus was shaking his head and she elbowed him, demanding, " _What_?"

"Nothing!" he protested, putting up his hands to defend himself, "Humans are just so... _soooo_ ," he gestured with his hands, obviously trying to find the least offensive way to say what he was thinking, " _Complicated_. I mean, how long has it been since you've... _you know_. He's attractive by human standards, right? What's the problem?"

Shepard burst out laughing and shook her head. She wasn't sure what was funnier, that he assumed a man she was interested in (and _that_ idea had settled in much more easily than she'd anticipated) was automatically attractive, or that he was accusing her of being too complicated.

"Oh, Garrus," she said dryly, "You have _no_ idea."

"That's sort of why I brought it up."

"He's-" but she couldn't wrap her brain around the topic well enough to formulate a decent response. Shepard pursed her lips, "It's more me, really. After everything that's happened, I don't want it to be wham-bam-thank'ya-ma'am. I want it to _matter_."

"I... sort of get it," Garrus said. He ticked his talons on the railing, his mandibles still. Discomfort or concentration. The difference was subtle.

Shepard made a broad, frustrated gesture with both hands, " _I_ don't. With everything that's going on, how am I supposed to find time for a relationship like that? Hell, I should be _grateful_. Most men find me terrifying on some level."

Garrus put his hand up cheekily and she swatted at him, laughing, "I'm being _serious_ , ass."

"So am I," Garrus's mandibles were twitching again, "Seriously _terrified_."

"Everything happens so damned fast nowadays," she said, "One day I'm looking for geth ships, the next I wake up on an operating table in a Cerberus facility. And you know how it was _before_ all of that. I wouldn't mind something that isn't life or death for once."

Shepard frowned, turning to face the window again, her reflection in the glass scowling back at her.

"You've earned it, Commander," Garrus said quietly, putting a tentative hand on her shoulder, "If anyone has, it's you."

"Ah, I miss Wrex," she huffed, bumping him with a shoulder and smiling, " _He_ wouldn't enable this sort of whining."

"I'm happy to enable whining, at least in your case," Garrus squeezed her shoulder tightly before releasing it, "Keeps you human. If you didn't whine, they'd have to come up with some other classification for you."

"Yeah, thanks."

They watched the Citadel scurry around them in silence for a long while, absorbed in their own thoughts. Now that she'd talked to Anderson, she wasn't quite sure what the hell they were going to do. Maybe Cerberus hadn't retaliated against her defection right away, but it would be coming, and it wouldn't be pretty. Most of the crew was starting to feel it, she knew, that creeping unease that maybe they'd done the wrong thing, that maybe they were on the wrong side.

Cruising around the galaxy not doing much of anything wasn't going to help her cause.

"How long are we hanging around the Citadel?" Garrus wondered, turning his back to the vista, crossing his arms and watching the crowd instead.

"However long Thane's lunch with his son takes," she said, "I figured he'd be leaving from here, to be honest, but he said he'll stick around until we get a more solid plan together."

"Are we close to having a more solid plan?" Garrus asked.

"Not even half a one," she ground her teeth slightly, "The Illusive Man was a son of a bitch, but without his intel... we're flying blind."

"His intel was manipulative and nearly got us killed," Garrus pointed out.

"It was still intel," Shepard said, "What've we got now? Jack shit. Unless..."

Her posture straightened and she looked to Garrus, who looked back at her with a bemused sort of anticipation.

"Liara," she said, "She's going after the Shadow Broker. That son of a bitch tried to sell my body to the Collectors. There has to be _something_ there."

"Whoa, easy Commander," he said, "The Shadow Broker isn't someone you can just run at guns blazing. Nobody even knows who the hell he is. Or she. Or _it_."

"I've got no other leads, Garrus," she said, "Even if we don't pursue the Shadow Broker, she's got to have other information. Like she said, she's a very _good_ information broker."

"Sounds iffy to me," he said, "Liara's changed a lot."

"After all the shit that's been happening, I'm just happy to still count her as a friend," Shepard said. There was a grimness in her voice that she didn't like. Was that _really_ what she was happy about? That didn't sound like her at all. The last time she'd severed her ties with her backer, she'd at least had a plan. All she had now was scattered clues and no way of knowing how close the Reapers were, or what their next move would be.

"Well, you know I'll follow you to hell and back, Commander," Garrus looked wary, "Just be sure."

"Yeah."

That was the end of their chat. She'd always been appreciative of Garrus's ability to know when silence was golden. They knew each other well enough by now that he recognized when talking wasn't going to go anywhere but downhill. Wrex was the same. Tali... Tali was prone to babbling if she thought a conversation was going wrong, but there was some comfort in that, a sincerity that managed to not get on her nerves where it might in someone else.

Of the three of them, Wrex was gone from the equation, his steady nonchalance noticeably missing.

That the three most reliable people in her life weren't human was sort of interesting, wasn't it? It made sense to her. Everyone she met in the military had either known of her parents decorated careers, or knew her as the hero of the Skyllian Blitz. She had their respect before she even shook hands or exchanged salutes.

Not like it was with the others. No, she'd had to _earn_ that respect. It was hard won in some cases, and she'd had moments where she was sure she'd lost them for good, but they were solid friendships now. Ironclad, baptized in fire.

Maybe it was something of a cop out, on the other hand. There was always a buffer for culture there, an excuse to just laugh and leave something be. It wasn't so easy with other humans.

Like Kaiden. Like _Zaeed_.

Thane materialized on the walkway next to her, startling her, and informed her that they could return to the Normandy. She asked him again, gently, if he was sure he didn't want to stay with his son.

He favored her with a quiet smile and shook his head, giving her no verbal answer. She'd take it for now – she was too wrapped up in her own head to start poking around in others.

She uttered a quiet thank-you to Garrus for their talk and had Joker point them towards Illium, to Nos Astra, heading down to the crew deck once their course was laid in. Taking a tray up to her room and scowling at datapads seemed like a good way to pass the time. As good as any other, really.

Eating by herself and poking through data didn't bring her much in the way of peace, personal or galactic. The ship was coming along, nearly back to where it had been before they'd hit the Omega-4 relay. Now, however, they were facing an issue of no longer having bottomless coffers to fund extensive repairs. Supplies. Crew salaries.

" _Crap_ ," she said irritably, tossing a datapad away from her and leaning back in her chair, pressing her fingers into the bridge of her nose. Fighting geth? No problem. Hunting Saren all over the galaxy? Easy done. Reaver attacking the Citadel? _Pfft_. Paperwork? She was _screwed_. She'd have to have a talk with Miranda, see what their options were.

Not a conversation she was looking forward to, but Miranda was a team player. She just hoped her solutions didn't go down any avenues her previous employer might have.

One thing at a time. EDI informed her of their arrival at Nos Astra and she abandoned the disorganized variety of headaches disguised as datapads laid out in front of her. Hopefully Liara would be more helpful.

Her hope was rather quickly dashed.

The meeting with Liara was short and frustratingly unhelpful. The asari, while she desperately wanted to help Shepard, insisted it would be better if they didn't work together. Not _yet_. Not when she was closer than she'd ever been.

" _Things have a way of... blowing up when you're around, Shepard_ ," she'd said gently, " _There will be a time for that, but it isn't now. I'll be in touch_."

She was right back where she started. Not unlike what she'd done on the Citadel, she leaned on a balcony and peered out at the bustling city surrounding the exchange, trying to work out the galaxies problems in her head.

She'd come down alone, wanting privacy with Liara and to have some time to really _think_. They weren't expecting her back aboard for hours, so she had some time to kill now that her meeting had gone bust.

Commander Shepard, Specter, back from the dead, and she was killing time to avoid her crew and her responsibilities. She smirked and ruffled her hair, displacing her curls.

Wasn't she supposed to be fixing the _galaxies_ problems? She didn't have _time_ to have any of her own.

Shepard was back on the Normandy shortly after that thought. The ship itself was back up to snuff, the crew was recovering, and if anything _did_ happen, they'd be ready. It still made her uneasy, flying blind, but maybe she ought to give it some time.

Or maybe she just wanted an excuse to hole up in her quarters for the evening.

Maybe a little bit of both?

Funny how easy it was to get bogged down in little things when she wasn't being put through the paces. She boarded and had Joker take them somewhere remote, someplace they could lay low while they sorted out just what the hell they were supposed to do between now and when the Reaper's rolled into town.

She was down on the crew deck before she realized it. Even though it was impossible to smell Gardner's cooking between decks, a soldier always knew when soup was on, and it was most definitely on. Shored up like they were, it was crowded in the mess, and she spotted a few aliens in the gathered. At least everyone was staying friendly.

Seeing the crew ( _her_ crew, damn it) gathered, alive and well served as a stabilizer. All of these people trusted her implicitly. She wasn't going to let them down.

Zaeed was sitting with them, his meal already half eaten, and his eyes latched onto her as she moved to stand in the lunch queue. She raised her eyebrows at him but that was the end of it. He knew her position on things. There wasn't a whole hell of a lot to discuss on _that_ matter.

Alcohol had ruined a perfectly friendly evening in her opinion.

She felt the sting again, the same as when she'd accused him of trying to make her some sort of trophy and he hadn't argued back. There had been a brief moment when she'd been so _sure_...

It hadn't been when she'd slid down a treacherous, dangerously tilted platform and dislocated her shoulder to save him from a grisly death. And it hadn't even been when she'd been falling out of the Normandy, real terror gripping her as her limbs betrayed her and he'd been the one to haul her ass in.

Nothing grand, no speeches, no adrenaline fueled moment had sparked the connection.

She'd leaned on him, and in that brief moment, she'd trusted him enough to show fear. And his response had been to comfort her.

It was hard to match that up with his callous jackassery on Omega. Was it surprising that he was a callous jackass, though? _Really_? And how did she know- shit, this was _garbage_. She wasn't a _ditherer_ , she was a goddamn _doer_.

Tray in hand, she took up a spot across from him. He was very busy finding his fork interesting and muttered some sort greeting.

"Massani," she said clearly, cutting into her meal.

He at least had the courtesy to swallow before he said, "Shepard."

Zaeed was eying her like he expected her to pull a gun at him at any moment, and she couldn't really blame him. It had happened before, after all.

"That bourbon, back on Omega," she was speaking casually, but she watched him sit up a little straighter, a prey animal scenting danger, "It _was_ bourbon, right?"

He nodded.

"How much did it cost to get bourbon all the way out in the Terminus system?" Shepard laced her fingers together, watching him carefully, "I barely had a hangover when I woke up, is all. Really nice stuff."

"Enough," he said. Defiance flared in his good eye – he wasn't feeling exactly guilty about his behavior a few nights ago, then.

"Put a number on it," she said. Their conversation was lost in the crowd, but she knew the people they were sitting next to probably couldn't help themselves. It was fine. She wasn't trying to gut him, here, just trying to figure out if he was just as screwed in the head about the whole thing as she was.

"Why?"

"I wouldn't mind another bottle, is all," she said, "But the price might be too steep."

She saw the gears turning rapidly in his head, trying to suss out if she was using some kind of coded wordplay, if she was playing him, _something_. Shepard kept her hands folded, stonewalling him. She was a much different animal when she was sober and had a goal.

"Two thousand," Zaeed relented, dropping his gaze to focus on his nearly demolished lunch. He missed her jaw dropping for a moment. Shit, she'd been thinking five hundred at most, but...

" _Seriously_?"

"It came all the way from bloody _Earth_ ," he said, "That bottle was a far way from home. You tasted it. Goddamn brilliant compared to the piss they serve out here. Aliens make terrible booze. No offense."

Mordin, just a few seats down, had zeroed in on their conversation. Unlike some of the human crewman, he wasn't making attempts to hide his eavesdropping. At all. He was practically taking notes.

"None taken," the professor waved a hand and smiled serenely, "Please, continue. Finding your exchange _fascinating_. Subtext!"

Shepard tried not to be distracted by the salarian but... no, she wasn't going to be distracted. Out here in front of the crew, they both had to play at being civil, so she had the upper hand. Civility was sort of her thing.

Well. She _tried_ to make civility her thing, anyway.

"You spent two _thousand_ credits specifically to drink with me?"

"You looked like hell, Shepard," his expression was tight, guarded, his tone as flat as he could manage, "I was just going to piss those credits up against the wall anyway. Might as well do something useful with them."

Shepard opened her mouth but he put up a hand to silence her, perhaps sensing that she'd reached the end of all possible neutral questions on the subject.

"No need to thank me," he said, making her scowl a moment, "I saved the label. Maybe you could come down and have a look at it, if you're so goddamn curious."

"Actually, why don't you bring it up to my quarters?" she bargained, poking at her cooling meal with her fork again, "I've got a lot of work to do. You could drop it off."

Zaeed leaned back in his chair, pushing his tray away from him slightly, peering at her with eyes so keen she imagined she'd be headless if they had any physical sharpness.

"Sure about that?" he said, "It could wait until later. I don't want to _bother_ you, Commander."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mordin's fingers flutter, but luckily for him he managed to stay silent.

"I'm always sure," Shepard said steadily, not letting his gaze intimidate her in the slightest. She wasn't giving him the option to not come up, either. They were going to get it sorted out, one way or another. There was too much at stake for her to let it fester in the back of her mind, "After dinner?"

"Hell, I'll bring dinner up along with it."

"See you then," she nodded at him. He nodded back, removing himself from the mess hall. Shepard's eyes followed him until he was gone, which was pretty damned quick. She consumed her meal mechanically, not tasting it, deciding she'd grab that meeting with Miranda after she ate.

One way or another, she'd have a clear head by morning.


	4. Hell of a Thing

Miranda, it turned out, had already been drafting a new budget as well as thinking up new ideas for funding. Some of them Shepard refused outright – they would not be drawing from _any_ Cerberus cells, no matter how many favors she might have been able to pull. In the heat of the moment she'd told the Illusive Man off after blowing up a base he'd implored her to keep. She hadn't just burned that bridge, she'd bombarded it from orbit.

No Cerberus. She hadn't trusted them from the start, and while she trusted her crew, she didn't trust anyone still on the payroll of someone who going to be nursing a grudge.

It hadn't _all_ been bad news, at least. They had options. Not many, and they weren't sustainable indefinitely, but they were there.

And speaking of men with grudges...

She kept eyeballing her clock. Gardner would've started serving dinner maybe five minutes ago. The man was serious about food, she'd give him that. Punctuality was a good quality in a mess sergeant.

Shepard wasn't entirely sure what her game plan was, or if she even needed one. There had been obvious tension in the mess hall earlier, neither of them coming straight out with anything, but that there was any strain at all was a... _good_ sign, maybe? It was the sign of _something_ , anyway.

If Zaeed had written her off, if there wasn't something gnawing at him about the situation, she sincerely doubted he'd be going through all of this nonsense.

Really, she should have been reciting her 'No thanks' speech in her head, getting it ready to go. She didn't have time for whatever the hell she was contemplating. They were teetering on the edge of something that was going to change everything forever. It was huge. Too big, too beyond her understanding for her to do anything but plow through it head first. She was doing what she could, pouring all of her energy into it, and every time she stopped to have drinks in a seedy bar, every time she stared off at a horizon and tried to _work things_ out, she felt like she was letting everyone down.

It probably wasn't healthy, shouldering the galaxies problems, but no one else was doing it.

That all of her blustering justification came crumbling down thanks to one small, almost insignificant gesture and an overpriced bottle of booze was sort of hilarious.

Sort of.

The man was a criminal, if she was serious with herself. An ex-Alliance, bounty hunting, Blue Suns founding, shot in the head, revenge obsessed son of a bitch. He was the kind of man that was usually on the other side of her gun, but definitely not without giving her a run for her money.

And he'd agreed to stay on without his usual fee. Miranda had shown her what it was when she'd asked, noting that the arrangement for the suicide mission had been significantly higher.

Drinks were on _him_ for the foreseeable future.

Take away all of that growly merc shit, though, and what was left? A hell of a shot. Someone who wasn't intimidated by her. Someone who, even if he didn't much want to, respected her.

She spent a lot of time solving other peoples problems, and she wasn't short on shoulders to lean on if she needed a friend, but there was something _more_ there with the mercenary. Most of her friends might be crushed by the metaphorical weight of one of her leans, spare one, and she wasn't about to vent her frustrations about saving the galaxy to _Wrex_. He had enough problems just trying to keep the krogan from blowing each other up.

Zaeed... he didn't tolerate bullshit. Didn't buy into self pity. Hell, he'd been shot point blank in the head. The man was _tough_. And unlike any of her alien confidants, there was potential for something _more_. Something more that wasn't hopelessly fraught with complications.

"Officer Massani is requesting access to your quarters, Commander," EDI's placid voice still managed to startle her.

"Yeah, let him up, EDI," Shepard said, running her hands through her hair and leaving it at that. She considered a few places to wait, but in the end she was still sitting at her desk by the time he entered her quarters.

"Commander," he said. It wasn't formal so much as it was wary. He was holding two dinner trays, just like he'd said.

"And you said you weren't a gentleman," Shepard smirked and kicked out a chair for him, accepting a tray with quiet thanks. He didn't respond to her comment or her thanks, guarded, maybe playing by his own plan.

"What's this about?" he asked after the two of them had made a dent in their meals, "I know you don't give a damn about the brand of bourbon we drank. Pretty sure it was older than you."

Him broaching the topic threw her off balance for a moment. She really did need to stop thinking like she was always a step ahead of him. It was rarely the case.

"Older than Jessie?" she used his trick, dodging his question and putting up another. The mention of his old rifle threatened to bring out a smirk, but his lips only twitched a moment.

"Not a chance," he outright scowled, "Cut to the goddamn chase, Shepard."

"Omega," she said after a beat. She felt a bit on her guard herself. Neither of them was eager to be on the defensive.

"What about it?"

"Afterward, when you came up here-"

"Oh, you mean when you made my balls turn bluer than a goddamn asari? Yeah, I think I remember that bit."

" _Don't_ interrupt me, Massani," Shepard's fingers curled into fists. Not the tight sort, but _God_ could he ever get under her skin. Maybe this was mistake. She didn't need constant antagonism from him, not when she could get it from anyone else in the galaxy.

Zaeed glared and shifted his weight, stabbing his fork into his dinner. Definitely _not_ a polite apology, but she'd take it for now.

"I just want to know if I was a trophy fuck or not," she said bluntly. The words felt ugly on her tongue – she didn't like them, but that didn't mean they didn't have some truth to them. She'd accused him of it and he hadn't exactly denied it.

It would have been too easy if he'd just answered her. Instead, he grappled for high ground again, "Why?"

"Answer the question," Shepard said. She'd been dead set on putting on a neutral face, steepling her fingers and looking down at him from a tower of icy indifference, but it wasn't working so well. She was too close to it now.

"What the hell do you want me to say, Shepard?" there was an exasperated thread in his voice that made her raise her eyebrows just slightly, "That I want to go bloody _steady_? Maybe we could hold hands in the corridor later."

"Don't be a dick," Shepard said, "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

He was doing it again, teeth grit behind pursed lips, jaw ticking, his good eye practically boring a hole into her skull. The man didn't half ass anything, she'd give him that.

"Maybe I don't."

She glared at him. All right, so, neither of them wanted to be the one to come right out and say it. Was that projection on her part? Was this one sided? No, her instincts couldn't be _that_ off.

Goddamn him for making her doubt herself.

"I was still pretty shaken up after you saved my ass," she said. He rolled his eyes, but there wasn't much malice in it, "What I'm talking about comes after. _After_ that... shit, I was _scared_. I thought after all we'd been through, we were going to get blown up by our own bomb. And _you_..."

She wasn't sure if she imagined the almost guilty expression that flashed over his face, it was there and gone so quickly.

"You're not one for mercy, Zaeed," she wasn't frowning, but her expression had gone very serious, "Not when people show you their throat. You didn't rip mine out, even after what happened on Zorya. I'm just trying to figure out if that means something or not."

He wasn't quite making eye contact, "I'm not a heartless monster, Shepard. I don't think I've seen you scared _once_ before that. Hell, when you ran out of thermal clips you threw your goddamn pistol at a Reaper. Daft bitch."

It had been a venomous, nasty insult not too long ago. Now it almost sounded like a term of endearment, albeit not a very complimentary one.

"It wouldn't have even qualified as a half-arsed hug," he said gruffly, "Does it have to _mean_ something?"

Shepard set her dinner tray on her desk and leaned back in her chair, raking her fingers through her hair and exhaling before she finally risked, "I'd like it to."

Zaeed raised his eyebrows in surprise, a shade of _smug_ creeping in next, but he wasn't willing to concede anything just yet.

"Not enough to put out for the man who just spent two grand on booze for you, though."

"In my defense, and for the record, I don't think I _need_ to defend myself, I didn't know how much it cost," she said. She'd stuck her neck out – it was his turn. Otherwise, she imagined their banter was going to sour pretty damned fast, " _Credits_ aren't the issue, anyway."

She could see that he had a fair number of acerbic insults and comebacks just _begging_ to spring off of his tongue. None of them came, however. Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck and pushed out a weary, aggravated sigh.

"Shepard... you're a bloody _saint_. A big goddamn _hero_. That sort of thing, _shit_ , I don't have to explain it to you. You _know_ ," he paused to set his dinner tray aside and folded his arms over his chest before soldiering on, "After all the garbage I've seen these past few weeks, after what I saw in the Collector base, even I've got to admit that sort of shit puts things in perspective."

Shepard waited, patient, daring to allow a little flicker of warmth in her chest. This was either a very long winded let-down, or he was winding up to say he wouldn't mind a little _meaning_ in his life either. It sounded sort of goofy when she put it like that, but hell with it. She was allowed.

"Last woman I got serious with sold me out to the Blood Pack," he said, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees, letting his hands dangle, "That was six bloody years ago. Seven? Nah. Six."

She didn't respond to that. He'd told her that story – the asari he'd had a 'good thing' going with. Shepard hadn't pried further then, and she didn't now. It wasn't assurances he was looking for. This was a hell of a lot more talking than she'd expected from him, and drawing out more wasn't going to tell her anything she hadn't already worked out. Just because she wanted something exclusive, something for _keeps_ , didn't mean she was going to start shoveling through his checkered past. Didn't mean she wanted him to start asking her deep questions, either.

Having someone that she could lean on if she wanted would be a hell of a thing. Outside of everything else – the tattoos, that devilish gleam in his eyes, his steadfast confidence – it was that he _understood_ her. Not _entirely_ of course, that was impossible, but enough that he wasn't compelled to coddle her.

He'd summed it up rather well himself when he'd described waiting out her puke-fest on the Citadel. Some people were compelled to look after her, convinced that there was something fragile, something that needed nurturing underneath her unwavering exterior.

Zaeed knew that she just needed to puke and shake it off.

_Neither_ of them needed taking care of. Considering what was coming, it was an invaluable quality to have.

She'd been sitting there silently, _staring_ at him, and his eyebrows had slowly began to creep up his forehead. Maybe she ought to say something instead of just sitting there thinking warm, fuzzy thoughts?

"Come here," Shepard side, beckoning with one hand. He smiled, the expression even warming his good eye, and leaned back again.

"And do what? Sit in your lap?" he said, slapping his thighs with his hands pointedly, " _You_ come _here_."

"Trust me?" she put _just_ enough saccharine in her voice to make it insincere.

"That's fighting dirty."

"You love it."

He looked unsure for just a moment and then decided to relent, standing and taking a few steps to close the gap between them. Of course, that was all he did, folding his arms again and looking down at her with a 'Yeah, _and?_ ' expression.

Shepard curled her index finger at him, narrowing her eyes in what she hoped was a vaguely predatory fashion. He didn't respond immediately, still considering her, trying to anticipate her next move. When he did lean down it was with an indulgent, sardonic smile. He braced one hand on her desk since she was sitting so close to it, hooking the thumb of his free hand into his belt. His eyes moved over her face, which was quite close to his now, close enough that they could feel each other's breath.

"You pull a gun on me and I'll drown you in your own fishtank," he said flatly, contrasting with his brief, lopsided smile that told her everything she needed to know. He was on board, maybe even in spite of himself.

Shepard put her hands up with a smirk, turning them back to front, as though somehow that would assure him she was unarmed. She gave into her compulsion from a few days ago again, reaching out to run her fingers curiously over the ragged, rough scars on his face. Clean shaven, she noted – even now his jaw was relatively smooth.

There wasn't any hesitation in her exploration, and he didn't so much as flinch this time around, his free hand unhooking from his belt to indulge in his own curiosity. She'd been fully expecting a grope, but instead he grazed her scalp with his fingers, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine even as he wound one of her short red curls around an index finger. He smirked and stretched the curl out as far as it would go, releasing it and watching it spring back into place defiantly.

It was a bizarre moment, she decided. He'd wanted her on her back _toute suite_ not too long ago, and the first thing he did was play with her _hair_?

She'd actually been halfway through the thought when he'd seized the back of her neck and covered her mouth with his own, but it had happened so fast it took her brain a moment to register. Once it had made a note of the turn of events, it backed off.

Shepard made to stand and Zaeed growled against her mouth, moving his hand to her shoulder and roughly forcing her to sit down again. She heard a loud clatter, identifying it as her datapads being unceremoniously swept off of the surface. Probably the dinner trays too, if she could tear her mouth away from his long enough to get a look at what had happened.

Shepard moved to stand again, more insistent, and he wrapped an arm around her waist the moment she was on her feet, lifting her up enough to set her bottom on the cleared desk. A few other loose items that hadn't gone in his sweep fell to the floor, forgotten.

His hands seized her waist and his mouth moved away from hers, grazing her jaw and savaging her neck. She felt a hot flash of indignation at his _gall_ , marking her skin _just_ high enough so that none of her collars had _any_ hope of hiding it.

Angrily she curled her fingers into his hair, gripping it and giving it a _yank_ , making him grunt and jerk his head back. They made eye contact, and any angry words she might've had died before they could make it past her lips. Instead, she _laughed_.

Zaeed's own throaty laughter joined hers, accompanied with a smug expression and his hands roaming the length of her body.

"You know," he muttered, hands undoing the fastens and zippers on her jumpsuit, "This takes me back..."

Shepard pressed a finger over his lips and shook her head, "Tell me later."

"I was on this mission, long, _long_ time ago," his lips curled into a crooked smile, and he seemed to be having a very easy time of getting her out of her suit even as he talked, "Me and a couple of my best mates at the time," he paused to loosen her bootlaces, tapping them afterward so she could toe the boots off herself, "Seemed like an easy mission. Break into this secluded compound, bust out this blokes girlfriend or wife or some damned thing and leave. Didn't know the whole story, but according to our client, the place was guarded by maybe a dozen security mechs. Easy, right?"

He peeled the top of her suit down, keeping a firm hold of it so she could wriggle her arms out, and trailed a few kisses over one of her shoulders. The merc was definitely savoring the memory and the moment.

"Wrong," he said in her ear, "Bastards hired all sorts of security after our client got his intel. It was a goddamn slaughter. My mates ended up corpses and it was just me and this other bloke left in the end. Pretty sure he was the leader of the other mercs. We swing out at each other, guns aimed at each others heads, and goddamn _click_. Both of our guns, _jammed_. This was before Jessie. Unreliable piece of shit, it was."

Shepard chuckled in spite of herself, bracing her hands on the desk and lifting her backside up so he could yank her pants off without resistance.

"Told my gun what a _bitch_ she was," he moved in between her legs, himself still fully dressed, "And I ran a hand over the barrel, just like," he ran his fingers lightly up her spine, lowering his voice an octave as his fingers eventually hooked on her bra, "That. Pow," he unlatched her bra with a flourish, "Blew his goddamn head off right there and then. Don't think I even squeezed the trigger."

He definitely had a way with words, though she has having a pretty hard time understanding the relevance of the story. Not that it was a _bad_ one.

"Moral of the story?" she mumbled, enjoying how he was drinking her in with his eyes, his hands returning to her hips and giving them a hungry squeeze.

"You won't find a bastard in the _galaxy_ with steadier hands," he said.

"And you said you weren't romantic, Zaeed."

He made her pay for that statement, though she wasn't so sure her punishment was negative reinforcement. Somewhere on their journey around her quarters he managed to get out of his armor. There were hand prints on the aquarium glass, the leftover dinner was still spilled on the floor (and a bit trampled), and there were bootprints on the wall over her bed.

Most of the bedding was on the floor, but a slight adjustment to the climate control meant they didn't need covers. Shepard's curls were plastered to her skull with sweat, and though the shower called to her, it was much more interesting to trace the pattern of the tattoo sleeve on his arm.

All right. That had been worth all the trouble, even if she was pretty tempted to slap the smug, self-satisfied expression off of his face.

He groaned and rolled onto his side a moment, feeling around on the floor while she watched the muscles of his back and shoulders work under his skin. Shepard smirked, chin propped on her fist, raising her eyebrows when he produced a cigar and a lighter from his search. An actual flint-wheel and fuel powered lighter.

It was probably older than she was.

"That's a... what's the name," her brow furrowed a bit in concentration, " _Zippo_ , isn't it?"

He looked surprised that she knew it, cupping a hand around the flame as he puffed on the cigar a few times. Her nose wrinkled at the smell, though it was a familiar one. The starboard cargo area always smelled like it, albeit a bit less pungent since he never smoked them when she was present.

"Yeah," he snapped it shut and passed it to her, watching her turn it over in her fingers as smoke curled from his cigar.

Her smirk faded to a private smile as her fingers felt the battered surface, steel pitted and scratched from a long life in Zaeed's service. How many stories accompanied _this_ particular object?

She looked up when she felt his hand on top her head, the gesture a bit heavy, fatigue obviously settling into his limbs as he relaxed. When they made eye contact he cupped her face, briefly, grazing her chin and her jaw with his thumb.

"Sleeping here?" Shepard wondered, pressing the zippo back into his hand before he could withdraw it fully. He nodded at her and set it on the nightstand, but she wasn't sure if his nod was a thank you for his lighter back, or a yes, he was sleeping here.

"Yeah, guess so," he eventually answered, curt. Not _terse_ , but she could tell he wasn't really a pillow talk sort of guy. At least, not tonight. He had an all-too-familiar look on his face, eyes slightly out of focus as he _remembered_ things.

"You don't have to," she reminded him gently, "No pressure."

"Daft bitch," he said with a surprising amount warmth, taking his cigar out of his mouth and gesturing her closer, "Come here."

This time she obeyed, sliding up alongside him, even daring to lay her head on his shoulder. Awfully cuddly for a couple of die-hard bad asses, in her opinion. Nobody had to know.

He rested a hand on the curve of her back as she settled in. They didn't speak again, no sweet words or platitudes, but he did give her a bit of a squeeze right before she drifted off.

* * *


End file.
